A Templar's Tale
by MarcoDelMarco
Summary: The tale of a Templar, well, ex-Templar. What he's seen, what he's lost, and what he must do. Maker help him.
1. Chapter 1

(I wrote this for the dragonage wiki contest. I think it's good, good enough to win I don't know. The premise is your are a Coterie assassin who failed to kill your target and they want to know why.)

Normally Orlesians can't spot an assassin through the cloud of pompousness they exude from their every orifice or hear one over the rambling of their ridiculously exaggerated accents, and having sent more than one of their kind to meet the Maker in the past I expected as much on this assignment. However, as soon as I set foot on the target's estate I realized that this time I was quite mistaken.

You see serah, the noblemen's late wife was not a native born citizen of Orlais. Rather she hails from Tevinter, a fact that was omitted from the background information I had received. Although not a mage herself , magical blood evidently runs in her family as I soon found out thanks to the number of Shades that attacked me the second I set foot within the grounds. They had evidently been summoned by the nobleman's daughter who was an apostate, sheltered from the Chantry by the standing of her father.

The girl had summoned the demons to protect her should any overzealous Templars come calling. She had trained them to sense their presence and attack on sight. As you know I was in part recruited into the Coterie due to my past as a Templar archer. And though I many have left the order behind me long ago, the beast still smelled the Chantry's stink upon me.

From a top the wall surrounding the manor I felled the creatures one by one with my arrows, sending the blighters back to the void. I had not expected to face such defenses, so when the last Shade fell to dust my quiver was nearly empty. It was then that the mage made her appearance, dressed in a black-market Circle robe and bearing a staff of Tevinter make.

I gave up shackling mages long ago. Even the memory of what I was forced to do in the name of Andraste fills me with disgust, at the Chantry and myself. But here was this young woman, one of the very people I had harmed standing in my way. She believed I was there to drag her to the Circle and was ready to kill me first. Would she fight any less fiercely to defend her father's life?

Her sorcery had been self taught, and it showed. She had enough raw power, and if the girl had been taken to the Circle to hone her talents she might have one day become a highly respected enchanter. But she had not. Her form was sloppy, and her spells lacked the necessary precision to even stand a chance against me.

I tried to make it quick. The last thing the young mage saw as her barrier shattered around her was an arrow on a direct course for her skull. After it was over I couldn't even look at her. I just wanted to get in, kill the Orlesian mark, and collect my reward. But as I was about to enter the house and make the kill, the mark came to me.

The Lord had heard the battle and watched it unfold through his gilded windowpane. He saw me slay the demons and the girl who had summoned them. I had unwittingly slaughtered his daughter before his very eyes.

He rushed out onto the lawn and threw himself down next to her body. Through broken sobs he cried for her to get up, begging the Maker to say it was not so. The look on his face…I have seen it many times in my former life, the face of a parent losing their child to a Templar. Until you have lost something you have brought into being this weight, this feeling of having all the joy and color drained from the world as your child lays dead before you…it can never be understood.

When I saw that…I couldn't do it. I have killed many people for the Coterie, men and women of all nations in Thedas, but when I saw what I had done to this man…I lost my nerve. I had taken the one thing in the world he truly loved, a fate far worse than death. So I fled. And he lives.

I will understand if my services are no longer desired, but if it is any consolation know that I have checked with the client who paid for his head and she is more than satisfied with the outcome of events. If there is one thing Orlesians like more than elaborate galas, smelly cheese, and opulent footwear it is revenge. And our client has gotten hers. She wanted him dead, and now he has nothing to live for.

-Assassin X


	2. Chapter 2

(I just wanted to give my character a little more depth and a history.)

I was born in the capital city in the nation of Antiva. My mother was a washerwoman, humble yet strong like all Antivan women. And my father served as a low ranking Templar stationed in the Antivan Circle. The Circle is located in the same city in which my mother and I lived, and so my father was permitted to live outside its walls and still serve. Every day he was wake at dawn and traverse the city to full fill his duties. However, the pay for a lowly Templar combined with that of a washerwoman is not very substantial. Though they both worked hard and long, they could only afford a home in one of the poorest parts of the city, namely one on the outskirts of the Elven Alienage.

My parents never wanted me to play with the elf children, and the elf parents never wanted their children to play with me. But we did. Growing up I think I was called Shem more often than my actually name, Del Marco, but I did not mind. I was a child and Shem to me was just a nickname from my small elven friends.

As I said, my father was a Templar, as was his father before him. So naturally when I came of age I too took up the shield and joined the order. While going through training I only wished that my father I could have served together, but alas, by the time my training was nearing completion he had to retire. He was much older than my mother when they wed and consequently much, much older than I. One does not see very many retired Templars, and now I know why.

It was only a week after I took my vows that the symptoms began to appear. He would forget what day it was, or change subject midsentence when speaking. But as time went on it became more and more apparent the toll Lyrium withdrawal would have on him. The Chantry supplies their Templars with the stone to, as they claim, enhance their powers and resistance to magic. But I soon learned that was only in part true. Lyrium is the leash through which the Devine controls her army.

I did not partake in consuming Lyrium, knowing what it would make me become. Instead I gave my rations of the stuff to my father to stem the tide of madness that was washing over him. It helped, but not as much as I would like. The older you get, the more you need. This was the first moment of disillusion I suffered in regards to the Chantry.

The next came a short time later, in the form of a friend who had long ago called me Shem. When one joins the Templar order they can become many things. They can be a leader and make their way up the ranks, maybe even to Night Commander. They can become a hunter who tracks down and contends with apostates. They can learn to wield a sword or fire a bow. I took to the bow. Growing up near the elves I learned archery and how to be light on my feet, skills that would serve a Templar hunter well.

My father only had to kill a few mages in time, and then only ones who had failed their harrowing and fell to the demons. He never had to see their true faces as they were slain. But I did. I did not stay in the order long, but I did long enough to see many maleficarum slain in the name of the Maker. Most were indeed dangerous blood mages and apostates bent on subversion of the Chantry. But not all, not Leavz.

Growing up, Leavz was small even by elven standards. The other children would tease him and call him dwarf. But he just smiled and laughed, never letting these jibs dampen his sunny outlook. He was a good person. And as it turns out, he was a mage.

He was tracked to the Alienage by one of my fellow Templar hunters, and he along with a unit and myself were too take him to the circle, dead or alive. But when I saw who the apostate was I could not. I told my brothers, I told them do not do this. This elf is not a danger to anyone, I know him. But they would not listen. They said that my history with the elves was clouding my judgment, and when I continued to protest one of my fellow archers struck me from behind with his bow. As I fell I heard Leavz's voice. He said "don't hurt him!" and then there was darkness.

I woke up in the Circle infirmary. There was a Tranquil over me, examining my head where I had been struck. It was Leavz. His eyes…his voice….he was just, empty. The boy who I grew up with, the small elven child who was so full of joy and laughter was gone. Only this husk, this living insult to his memory remained.

It was then that I left the order. I could not stay there and see…them. The Circle and Templar quarters have many Tranquil serving there. They cook our meals, wash our sheets, exct. And now whenever I see one of them all I can see is Leavz. Each of them was a person. Each had a mother and father, people who loved them. And now they had, and were, nothing. So I left.

My parents wouldn't understand, and the Chantry certainly would not. So I fled to the underside of the city, to where even Andraste herself wouldn't find me. My skills and experience, brief though it was, made me a valuable asset and was quickly picked up by the Coterie. They needed skilled people, and I needed to get away.

And here I am, a Coterie assassin who has lost so much, seen too much, and wants nothing but to forget.


End file.
